Goodbyes
by Guevera
Summary: [Tate] Tony tells Kate he loves her, but she runs away, causing Tony to seek comfort in another woman. Kate hands in her resignation and heads to the airport. Can Tony stop her, and, gain back her trust?


Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, all rights belong to DPB and Bellasarius productions, blah blah blah

A/N: This is my 4th fic, but actually my first attempt at chapter writing, oh and the people who were worried that Kate and Tony won't make up - don't worry! I've got a plan for those two, that I _know _you'll love! R&R!

"**Goodbyes"**

**Chapter One**

Dusk has fallen early tonight, as though the hours are too stark and harsh for the drowsy candlelight glow and the soft hush of fading wind. It was dark before he'd really noticed; he thinks that this could be a sign for quite a lot of things, but he'd never been one to make those connections. He could see the road unraveling before him, a halting series of stoplights and one-ways, guardrails that glint with rainwater when the headlights of his car shine upon them.

He should be at home, turning restlessly between cold sheets, dreaming of the warmth of blood, pale skin and viral destruction. He should be at home, working tirelessly, each scrape of sandpaper a step across desert, an affirmation of life.

He should be a lot of things, but he's managed to be none of them. For every time that he has succeeded, there are so many more that he's failed. Not all of them have names, identities. Numbers. The ones that matter are those that came in between. At the tomb of the unknown soldier, the fire is always burning, and so it is with him. He switches on the heater and the answering rush of air is almost enough to silence these thoughts.

He yawns. There's a lot to think about. Why was he here?_ A final goodbye? A confession? _Tony thought.

_Fate?_

He parks the car and slams the door shut. The sound is muted and pathetic. Unslept hours rattle and jitter at the corners of his eyes and the metal of the car key jabs into his palm as though to draw blood.

Dulles in the security-light near-darkness is unrelenting, a monolith of steel and concrete, tinted glass and fading lines on sidewalks. The air, tinged with sea-salt and distant snows, slides around the edges of his coat, but he refuses to huddle, to draw his shoulders, to shove his hands in his pockets. He stands alone among the dark-clad businessmen with their heads drawn down against the wind, among the weary families, the sleep-deprived mothers, the irritable children, the apathetic fathers. There are so many of them, and none of them really know. They all look so alive. He waits for a minute, watching the eternal flow of airport traffic, and then he counts the steps on his way inside, senses the exact moment when the night air is replaced by the disaffected harshness of fluorescent lights, the grimy blandness of the decor.

Airports, he thinks, are a crime against nature. Especially at night.

He pushes through security with a badge and force of will. They let him go through because he's unarmed, yet a little bit desperate.

The paper is worn in his hand, printed ink soft and bleeding. He has memorized the information and does not need to be caught with this evidence. He crumples the page and shoves it into his pocket, remembers the resignation in her eyes as he watched her hand Gibbs the printout. This time, she told him, she isn't coming back. Maybe there's a reason for that.

Maybe she knows she doesn't need to, or maybe she knows it's an impossible task.

He's chosen not to think about this.

He rounds the corner and sees her, sitting in the corner, hands folded in her lap, slouching in her dark jacket. Utterly still. He'd thought that she'd be dressed up, wearing soft shades of cream and rose-pinks. In his mind, that's how he envisions this. But still, dressed in comfortable black pants and a dark jacket, she's not underdressed, but it doesn't matter. She's still beautiful. And Tony smiles, not unkindly, but she's facing away. It's not at all like Tony envisioned it. In his mind, Kate would greet him, telling him how glad she is that he came. But no, deep down he knew she'd be cold, unwelcoming. He'd left her when she really needed him, and to gain her trust back would take time. Tony looked at his watch. He knew the flight left in an hour; soon Kate would be heading to the boarding gates. He needed time.

He often imagined things like this, things like running and dying and never saying goodbye. Like imagining them made it easier when the time came. Easier. Sure.

He takes a step forward, another. Kate's just sitting there in the corner, in front of the window. She's not looking out, but looking down. And even if she were looking out, she wouldn't be seeing D.C., anyway. She never has. She looks tired and pale, burnt-out. She looks as though she hasn't been sleeping since their talk. Their talk where Tony had told her that he loved her, and she'd turned away, leaving him.

Kate doesn't look up until Tony is standing almost directly in front of her, and when she does, when she sees who it is, her smile dies, incomplete. Her shoulders slump a little and she draws a shuddering breath.

"Tony," she says, and if it were anyone but him, this would be scary, because she should be greeting him with warmth, smiling. Not that that was what Kate was like, she was a strong woman, no fuss, no screwing around. _Heh._ _Screwing around.__How appropriate._ Tony thought. He wanted her to acknowledge their relationship, whatever the hell it is. But she looks scared. Scared that if she was to acknowledge anything, she'd fall into a deep, dark abyss. Kate wouldn't admit it to anyone, let alone herself, so it's just normal. It's just what happens.

"Where're you going?" Tony asks and immediately hates the inanity. He's beyond asking these questions, beyond needing these answers. He makes demands and his orders are fulfilled.

"I'm guessing Abby already told you," Kate says, crossing her arms. "Probably when she gave you the flight details. Which is why you're here."

"That's not what I asked," Tony says, finally finding his bearings.

"Yeah, it is." Kate closes her eyes as if in dismissal, as though she's too weary to fight, as though she's drowning and there's no force able to stop it. So she just gives in. Tony has the feeling that this is it, that maybe this time he's too late. That this time, there is no command he can give, no power strong enough to keep her here, to keep her from breaking. To keep both of them from breaking, maybe.

And then Kate opens her eyes, nods to the windows, the dark storm-clouds. "Have you ever noticed how often it rains here? It's raining, like, all the time."

"Come home, Kate," Tony says.

Kate shrugs, gives up. "I quit," she says, a final, dismissing statement. As if this statement would make him leave. She didn't need him. She was just _fine_ by herself, thank-you very much. Kate looked straight into his eyes, a single, piercing stare, "But _you_ left."

"I'm here now." Tony said, trying to sound reassuring.

"Yeah? Well what the hell's keeping you there?" She speaks softly. It doesn't sound like an accusation. It sounds like a plea, a prayer.

Tony doesn't have an answer. "I'm sorry."

"Right," Kate says in a sarcastic tone, "Of _course_ you're sorry."

Tony looked down. No words could ever make her forgive him. _He_ didn't forgive himself. He'd told her he loved her, and she'd run away, too afraid to face the fact that she loved him too. Kate wanted Tony to change; she wanted to be able to trust him completely.

Kate had gone to the local bar to consol herself. She wanted to be alone. But being alone is what started all the problems, because, well, she wasn't alone. He'd been there with a friend, maybe he needed to be consoled too, just _why_ with _HER_?

Paula Cassidy, Tony and her were just friends,right? Nothing was going on between them. _Right_, Kate thought, _then why'd he go straight toHER?_

"How can you say one thing and do another, Tony?" Kate said accusingly, slightly smiling, as if it was funny. Hell, if it was happening to someone else, in a movie perhaps, _then_ it'd be funny.

Tony shifted his feet, wanting to sit down next to her, but afraid that the closeness they both so desperately wanted would push her even further away.

"I miss you Kate. I wasn't thinking straight." Tony was being honest. Kate sensed a tone in his voice that she had been trained to detect. In the interrogation room she could pick out who was lying, who was telling the truth. But not out here. Not with him. All the emotions of their time together rushed together, in a great mass that clouded her judgment. Everyone made mistakes, but maybe, just maybe, if she was capable of making them, then he could be to. And be sorry.

Kate smiled, a real smile, yet sad. Like she doesn't quite believe Tony, but she's not going to argue. She shakes her head. "I gotta keep moving," she says, and Tony wonders if Kate has ever stopped. If she knows what would happen if he did.

If that's why she keeps running.

All of this time and Tony has never asked this, has never asked why. It occurs to him, as he watches Kate fray the edge of her ticket, that even Kate doesn't really know where she's going, and that Tony has never asked her about that, either.

"Until what? You're dead?" he finally says.

And Kate just looks at him, waiting. Has he ever been afraid of death? Kate has. She is. The contradiction bothers her more than it should. If one of them is to leave, it should be her, but she gave that up a long time ago, traded it for ideals and promises, for forever, though right now, none of those seem to matter.

"I've got a flight to catch," Kate says eventually, ignoring the question. "Nice of you to come say goodbye."

She nods to Tony, stands, shoulders her bag. The flight attendant stands at the jetway gate, waiting. Tony looks at her, hesitates. "You could leave," he says. "You don't have to stay. Vegas is great. Hot. Great weather." He smiles, raises his eyebrows, looks like he really hopes Kate will say yes. Like he really thinks there's a chance.

And maybe he does. Maybe it's not an act. Maybe this is finally real. But the ticket in her hand tells another story. It tells that she's leaving, going beyond reach, out of control, and this time, there's nothing Tony can do about it, except mourn, and regret, and do all of the things that he's sworn he'll never do again.

Tony looks at her, looks out the window behind him, at the planes taxiing in, the streaky lines down the glass.

"Kate," Tony says, his eyes darkening, and there's nothing that Tony can say. There's many things left to say, but no time to say it. He watches the rain slide down the window, blur the distant runway lights. He's losing another one, losing the most important one. The last one that he has left, and there's nothing he can do about it.

It's raining in D.C., a bitter haze from a starless midnight sky, and though Tony's fingers are laced tightly through his own, he's not sure that he'll ever be warm again.

**TO BE CONTINUED…**

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A/N - Don't worry! Kate and Tony _will_ make up, I'm writing the next chapter now, hopefully I can get it done soon! R&R guys! 


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